


It's not a fight if we're talking

by Skyresh



Series: Dueling not allowed - verse [2]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, College, Gen, One Shot, i don't even know what im doing, there will be more though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-28
Updated: 2016-01-28
Packaged: 2018-05-16 21:12:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5841151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skyresh/pseuds/Skyresh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>University means new friends, new opportunities - for Alexander, also new people to discuss things with. Or as other people call it, get into fights - purely intellectual, of course.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's not a fight if we're talking

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome back ... or if you haven't read the first work in this series, hi! This can be read as a one-shot, I'd still recommend reading the first one if you want to have a bit of background. I'm gonna turn this into a full series with chapters and everything, but until then, have this one-shot! Hope you like it :)

“Where do you think you’re going?” The annoyed, cold voice of his already most-hated person in his freshman year stopped Alexander dead in his tracks. Of course Burr had to ruin his day. He had just come out of the library, his memory a phone number richer. The tiny piece of paper was still in his left hand, the digits already in both his phone memory and his brain. Alexander Hamilton was not going to rush this. Considering that he was already writing endless letters to him in his imagination, that plan wasn’t working well.

Now this. He had been prepared to suffer through one of professor Jefferson’s lectures and not getting into a fight over abstract principles that the lecturer would always explain with ridiculously low-key examples – he would talk about freedom and then support his statement with how he would be able to eat macaroni and cheese for breakfast and nobody would judge him. He had only had a few lectures with him, but the man was already getting on his nerves. With Hamilton, this meant a plethora of sarcastic commentary and an aggressively high number of retorts. He tried, but most times the elitist and borderline racist views Jefferson displayed in his lectures elicited a strange aggressiveness in him that could otherwise only be provoked by a certain Aaron Burr, sir.

The same Burr that he had just run into, barely five steps out of the library. In his fawning over his new acquaintance he had completely missed him. Quickly he caught himself and straightened up. “Going places that you will never reach, obviously” he answered absent-minded. For once, Hamilton asked himself if this had been too much. Burr certainly seemed to think so, and fired back instantaneously. “Oh please, Hamilton. We both know that upstarts like you don’t make it past their first semester. You waste my time, now please get out of my way.” His rival certainly sounded tired, something he hadn’t seen or heard in Burr before. That didn’t mean that his insults were any less hurtful. A voice of reason disrupted his red-streaked thoughts, already preparing for the attack after the next, a voice that was suddenly John Laurens’, no longer Angelica’s, who had always been helpless against him fighting Burr. Leave him alone, it said, he’s not worth it – it was certainly louder than ever. Against people insulting his ancestry, however, not even precious Laurens would have stood a chance.

“Apparently the concept of a scholarship is not clear to you – you know, they pay your university so you can get an education, based entirely on merit. And since this is a pretty good college-“ Hamilton would have continued, had not Burr stepped closer and lowered his voice, in a seething tone that was uncharacteristic for the otherwise composed student. “Of course I am familiar with that concept. Don’t you know who got the Founder’s scholarship before you? I worked hard last year to not lose it, I waited patiently for a seat in the student council – and then some freshman comes along and wants to take it all away, so let me give you a piece of advice: you talk too much, Hamilton.” And with a blink of an eye, he was gone.

The thinly veiled threat darkened his mood to an extent that worried about going to far on this one. What would John Laurens say if he, barely a month at college, got into a fight that escalated? He had seemed, from his experience so far, not the type to mindlessly jump into a melee. Maybe this was what Alexander needed, a calm yet firm constant in his life that reminded him to halt for a second, to reconsider.

His thoughts wandered off in another direction. Why would Burr call him an upstart if he himself had gotten that scholarship? Something in his line of argument didn’t make sense. Alexander would have gladly talked to him about it, even started a proper discussion, well, after a short fight, anyway, but Aaron had just stormed off. Maybe that was just how he was, more the flight type – and yet he had the audacity to still insult him, knowing there would be no repercussions. It’s not that Alex could run to the student board to complain, anyway, it was the third week of the semester. He didn’t even know anything about the guy, apart that he was one year above him. Burr had kept statements about his personal life completely out of any discussion up until now, and slowly Alexander began to understand why. That didn’t mean that he liked it, in fact, the cowardice (or was it hypocrisy?) disgusted him.

Alexander tried to work off his rage by going faster. At this rate, he was almost running. The lecture building was already looming in front of him, and Alexander still had ten minutes to kill. He wasn’t one to be late though, so he set foot inside the complex and waited until the last students had all filed out. A few minutes later, he sat down in the second row and took out his notes.

In the front, Professor Jefferson was finishing up a carton of what looked suspiciously like macaroni and cheese. He had already read a bit ahead and wondered how Jefferson would tie in his favourite meal with the course material this time. Not that International Politics offered a lot of possibilities for that, but he had learned in his first two weeks in this course that one should never underestimate Professor Jefferson. He would have to occupy his time with letters to Laurens, a thought he secretly relished, even though none would ever reach the addressee. Alexander sighted and began writing.


End file.
